


The Practical Applications of Hyperosmia

by w0lf0fshad0w



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Clint Barton Feels, Clint Has Issues, M/M, Tony Being Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 12:39:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/w0lf0fshad0w/pseuds/w0lf0fshad0w
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes his nose is quicker than his ears, his mind or his reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Practical Applications of Hyperosmia

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt of: MCU, Clint/Tony, his favorite scent on Tony was motor oil on CommentFic on LJ

It was almost a ritual by now, Tony stumbling in at random times, always hours after Clint had called it quits for the day and fallen into their bed. The first time it had happened Clint had damn near taken his head off. It had been after a bad fight, both with the team and later just with Tony, and he hadn’t expected a mostly drunk billionaire, reeking of whiskey, to all but fall on him just as the sun was peeking through the tinted windows of Clint’s room. He’d realised who it was in about the time that it had taken the knife to get to his hand and he’d kicked Tony out instead, terrified by what had almost happened.  A repeat performance the next night showed that Tony apparently didn’t remember or didn’t find the threat of imminent death to be a deterrent, which considering the man in question, Clint assumed was even odds each way.

It hadn’t really stopped from then on. Clint got used to it, got used to the dip of the mattress and the always too cold hand at his hip when Tony rolled towards him. Got used to anticipating when it was worth staying awake a little longer than he normally would have so he was still aware when Tony would stroll in shortly after he went to bed, smelling of his ridiculously named shampoo and still warm from the shower. Clint got better at waking up at the sound of the door when the heavy notes of ozone and something not-quite-blood-but-close hung in the air and he knew that Tony had just been out in the suit and would still be high on adrenalin and want to talk. He learnt what it meant when sweat mingled with those scents, when the coppery smell was that little too strong to be anything but blood and he knew he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep, trading his warm bed for a patch of cold tile and a shaking shoulder under his palm.

Clint found himself looking forward to the rare occasions where Tony would slide into bed almost soundlessly, coffee on his breath as he muttered calculations to himself while the sun rose outside the large windows. Those were the mornings where he lingered as long as he could, waiting for Tony to eventually still beside him before he would get up and wonder if he’d be able to return the favour when he was done with work. Most of the time he could, because the very first lesson he’d ever learnt about Tony Stark was that when he crashed, he crashed hard. Both physically and metaphorically. He might have given up the hope of ever getting a solid night sleep ever again, but it did have its perks. Tonight seemed to be one of those nights as he caught a subtle scent as Tony’s head fell against his neck. As Clint buried his face in Tony’s hair, curling his arm around the mechanic’s back he knew that he’d been in the workshop. Not working on the suit, the buzz of static that always hung around him after that wasn’t there, but working on the cars. He would have to ask about it tomorrow, when he could properly see his partner light up over the simple fact of tinkering with something that wasn’t the suit and he could enjoy watching Tony speak faster that he thought he could keep up with some days. For now he was content to listen to Tony’s breathing level out and let the faint traces of motor oil that clung to Tony lull him back to sleep.


End file.
